An Ophelia of My Own
by amerikanka
Summary: He's in a room full of crazy people but he's not, because if he were crazy he would know it. She's here also but it must be for the same reason, to protect people, because she's not crazy. She can't be, because she's his Alice and he would know that too.


Written for the Flower Challenge on HPFC. Beta'd by wonderful **MaidenStar**!

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He watches her still, even though they think he's staring out the window. He's in a room full of crazy people but he's not, because if he were crazy he would know it. He doesn't understand what they mean when they talk to him slowly, but that's just because of this room. They speak so quietly, no one could possibly hear them. They speak quietly for fear of disturbing the other ones here, the ones who are truly crazy. And they speak in another language, too, mumbling in smooth, gentle tones. Sometimes the language is pretty, but it is still nonsense to him.

He's been placed here, in this room that always smells just a bit like potions, to protect all of those here who are insane. He's an Auror, and while he recovers from the attack by that black-haired... He shudders. He doesn't remember much of the attack and he doesn't want to. He remembers screams though, _her_ screams. His Alice.

She's still as beautiful as the day he first saw her. He sees her hair long, dark and glorious. Despite having had a baby, she's still as fit as any Auror should be, and her smile, when she looks at him, is as full as ever. He's glad she's here with him, because he might go mad without her, guarding these people from the bad man. Everyone has their place in the war, and for now his is guarding these people. He knew that if any of his family, what was left of it, was crazy, he would want them in a place where they could be protected.

But he would rather die than live like they do, not knowing who anyone is. He's always been so self-assured and a leader, so he knows it's good for them to have him to look up to, but at the same time he strains at the bit. He wants to be back out fighting, not where all these people don't know left from right. He holds up his wand hand and looks at it, wishing he could fill it with his wand again. That would feel right. He's sick of all the coddling and the nonsense talk and being forced to eat his meals with a Healer watching over him. He knows it's just in case any of the crazy people want his food, because the Healers are trained in their care and he's not, but it's still irritating. And he wishes they would speak sense to him. He could do with some decent, English conversation. Not that other languages are bad, of course, he just misses speaking with people who know how to talk.

He doesn't know why people use the soft voices on her too, because she's not crazy. She can't be, because she's his Alice and he would know. There's a boy and an old lady who both seem vaguely familiar to him and he knows that they come often to visit. The old lady talks to him and strokes his hand and he looks at her, because she's speaking nonsense. He doesn't reclaim his hand because that would be rude, and his mother raised him polite. He can tell they are words but he can't make any sense of them, and he thinks that she must be speaking in another language. He waits for her to speak English, not interrupting, because he's polite and his mother raised him well. Where is his mother? If she were here, she'd tell this old lady to speak sensibly, and tell him about his son.

His son. He remembers the baby and wonders why they haven't brought him back to Alice. That must be why she cries at night, but he doesn't comfort her. She screams sometimes, when the boy visits her, and he knows she's remembering their son. She gives him the only presents she can, gum wrappers, because she has nothing else.

Maybe he is that other boy that some man was talking about, with the power to defeat the Bad One. Maybe the boy is the son of someone he once knew. Because he can't be their baby, because their baby is still small, even though the dark-haired boy looks like Alice. He remembers that the other one is the son of two people who died. Alice doesn't seem to know any more than he does, except that she likes the dark-haired boy who looks like her and the old lady. She gives him presents, so she must like him.

He wishes they would let him out. He misses the world. He misses the breeze in his hair and the feeling of his heart in his throat, locked in combat with bad people, protecting her. Protecting Alice. He doesn't say anything, or ask to go out, because these people don't speak his language. Maybe he's in a foreign country. That must be the case, because no one can speak proper English here. He doesn't see any point in saying anything if they won't understand.

Alice tried that, a few times. She spoke to one of the other people here and they responded in a strange tongue, and so he didn't every try. She then had looked at him helplessly and he blinked back at her. That was all the communication that they had needed. They had always been able to read each other well, and he was glad he never had to say anything to her. It might disturb the insane people in this room.

Once, she gave the boy a purple gum wrapper, and he remembers the first flowers he ever gave her. A lot of his memories are fuzzy for some reason, but that's the one he always used for a... some kind of magic that was like a protection spell. It made an animal, glowing and silver, come out of his wand and protect Alice from... something. He doesn't remember the animal or the dark shadows well, but he remembers the memory. He feels like he concentrated on it very hard sometimes, and so he knows its important.

It's of Alice, his Alice. He had been walking around a castle—a school? The details aren't important, so much is fuzzy abut his memory—and he had seen wild violets crawling up the side of the brick wall. He picked some, careful not to crush their delicate stems, then leaned up against the stone wall, fingers deftly weaving the stems together. He made for her a bracelet of purple and white violets, and the look on her face as he placed it around her wrist and finished linking it together was his happy memory. He had taken her to the boulder where he had found them and showed her the violet patch, and she dug one up carefully and potted it, placing it in her window.

Or at least, she said she did. For some reason, he can't recall ever going into her room at the mansion, which is strange because they were together always. It doesn't matter now, though, because they're together. Violets meant faithfulness, he remembers something about that. Alice loves the meanings of flowers, and while he doesn't know much about them, some things have rubbed off.

He wishes he could give her violets again. But there are none in this place, and he can't leave the insane people alone, in case the bad man comes. He resumes his staring out the window, looking for violets and bad men coming to the hospital. From here he has a good vantage point, and he can drop things on the bad men if they come, because he can't have his wand around the crazy people. If he had his wand he could charm violets for his Alice, and see her brilliant smile turned on him.

He keeps looking for the bad men. Even if he can't give her violets (because she deserves violets and the world, but he can't give her either) he can keep the bad men from the insane people. It's his duty in this war that has gone on so long, and he will do it until he dies.


End file.
